


Five Brushes with the Truth

by JayBarou



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24302977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayBarou/pseuds/JayBarou
Summary: Five times Gerry was very close to telling some truths to Michael, but didn't quite manage.(and two times the truth came out)
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 85





	1. Misconceptions

**Author's Note:**

> Or Five Times Gerry Failed to Warn Michael

“Are you sure you don’t want to work in the Archives?”

“I’m not sure I even want to work with ****you**** again, Robinson.”

“Suit yourself, but it would help you in your book hunt.”

“I’ll make sure to be around if a Leitner shows up.”

At that moment the door cracked open. There might have been a knock, but Gerry had been too focused on Gertrude. He didn’t trust that woman at all. He was reminded of his own mother, and he knew he couldn’t take his eyes from her. He couldn’t trust anyone in that doomed Institute. Which was why he was quite surprised when the man who stood nervously at the door looked as far from the fears as one could imagine.

“Hello?”

Gerry did a double-take when Robinson turned in front of is eyes from the woman who had handed him lighter fluid for the Leitner into some fragile granny. The man at the door did a double-take at Gerry instead, but chose to speak to Robinson and ignore the black-clad, pierced elephant in the room.

“Ah, Miss Robinson, I, um, I found Mr. Vargas’ statement that you asked for. Well, uh, I found the translation. I, I already had the original but, y’know, I, I, I didn’t think you’d want it in Spanish.” The man let out a nervous chuckle and Gerry was not aware one could work at the Magnus Institute and keep anything that wasn’t despair inside. “U-U-Unless you speak Spanish?”

“I do not.” Oh, there it was, the forceful woman, so she couldn’t keep the mask for that long. That was useful to know. “And thank you Michael.”

Michael, huh? With the blond mop of hair and the attitude, or the façade, it was a name that fit the man perfectly in Gerry’s opinion. Despite the obvious dismissal, that Michael guy lingered at the door.

“Sure. Um, well, was, was there anything else you needed?” He kept sending what he probably thought were discrete glances Gerry’s way. He was used to being watched warily, so he recognised the look. The guy probably thought he was giving Robinson an opening to get rid of Gerry.

“Um… No, no. Not at the moment. Thank you.”

Second obvious dismissal, but the guy was still at the door. Gerry was having fun, truth be told. What would the blond man do if Gerry was really a threat? Fight him? With what? Those pianist hands? Hand?

Gerry realized Michael’s hand was at the other side of the wall, and there was some extra nervous energy of someone about to do something stupid. What was there, the light switch? And then Gerry realized; the fire alarm! At least the guy had some spirit. Gerry smiled at him, just to unnerve the man further. The guy only looked at Robinson, trying to catch her eyes. 

“Right, well, if you need me, uh, they’re installing that climate-controlled storage… that thing o-o-over the weekend, so I’m, I’m, y’know, I’m just getting all that together.”

“Yes! Yes, I remember.”

Third dismissal. But this time Robinson looked up at her blond assistant and pressed the dismissive tone with an aura that demanded privacy in no uncertain terms. Michael’s hand dropped from the other side of the wall and Gerry wondered if Robinson knew the kind of loyalty she inspired. She probably did. She probably cultivated it.

“Right. Well, call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Michael, I will.”

The door closed and Robinson let go of the frail mask altogether.

“One of your assistants?”

“I don’t think you need to know if you are not going to be working with us.”

“But knowledge is-”

“-If you finish that sentence between these walls, I will make sure I set ****you**** on fire.”

Gerry chuckled and picked his long, leather coat from its perch.

“Well,” he said imitating the inflection of the assistant. “Call me if you need anything.”

He barely heard the huff of the old woman before walking back through the hall looking for the exit. Except. On his way he passed the open door to an office and the blond man was there, alone, crouching his tall frame over the lowest drawer of a filing cabinet, and he thought he could have some fun and annoy Robinson; bypassing her to meet this man. He knocked on the open door. The man startled. Gerry contained a snort. He was in an exceptionally good mood. He had just burnt a Leitner and it hadn’t sunk in yet that he had to come back to his mother, so he enjoyed the way the guy unfolded himself from the floor with those big, startled eyes.”

“Oh, hmm, hello. You are... You must be lost. The exit is that way.”

Michael pointed to the right, but he didn’t approach much. Gerry didn’t move from the door.

“No, I’m not lost.”

He didn’t say anything else. He crossed his arms and watched the man squirm. The entities might feed on fear, but Gerry wondered if there was a way to feed on awkwardness, because this man was a five-course meal. And still, Gerry couldn’t help but notice how he glanced in the direction where Gerry had come, as if he could check through the walls if Robinson was okay. 

“You don’t look like you came to give a statement.” Gerry was quietly delighted by this nervous wreck who obviously had a strong core behind all that stammering. Maybe it was all a ruse and the man really belonged in the Institute.

“That might be because I didn’t come to give one. I’m told I look like I’d be the cause of a statement.” And when the blond didn't seem to be satisfied by that answer he conceded a little more to keep some conversation going. “Gertrude needed help with the follow up of a statement and I was available.

“You lie,” was the quick answer.

“Excuse me?”

“She has assistants to do the follow-up. She wouldn’t contact someone like you to do the work.”

He was clearly one of those guys; uptight normal people who thought makeup made a guy evil or something. As if there weren’t really evil things to worry about, and sitting in the chamber of lords too. 

“And what does that exactly mean ‘someone like me’?” Fine, his mood was starting to sour. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.

“Mean? A... A teenager!” The man exploded, and he immediately regretted it, Gerry could see him mentally stepping back. "Look, I’m sure there are plenty of perfectly nice teenagers out there, but there have been plenty of teenagers too who have come thinking they knew better, thinking they could prank the institute or worse, harass the staff; Robinson knows it too. She doesn’t hire... most teenagers.”

“Nobody even asks me for my ID to buy beers... Not even in **Scotland,** old man." Sure, thirty loomed in the distance, but he was far from a teen! Nevertheless, that answer did have an interesting detail. "It wasn’t because...?” Gerry pulled his coat from the lapels to bring attention to it.

“You could have come wearing..." Michael crossed his arms. "Wearing a three-piece suit a-and I would have thought the same. Worse! even, the rich kids usually... huh.. manage to piss off the whole floor without even trying,” he huffed.

Gerry fell silent. Most people had some kind of reaction to his clothes, either bad or good, and it was half of the reason why he wore them. It helped him to immediately assess people. People who reacted well to his looks usually had something in their lives that made them understand better than most the desire to live ignoring or opposing normalcy. Michael broke him from his musings.

“So why, hmm... Why are you here?”

“Robinson had to deal with people, and they wouldn’t have talked to someone who looked a shaky hand away from calling the police..." Gerry smiled cheekily but not without a certain sharpness. "Or sound the fire alarm.”

Gerry was once again assaulted with the dissonance of the forty-whatever in front of him angrily blushing and how that didn’t mix up well with his idea of the Institute. But, well, he had seen weirder things that week alone, and it was Tuesday.

“No! I mean, why are you _here,_ herein this office in particular.”

“Just an annoying teen coming to harass the pretty assistant, of course, as you said.” Gerry didn’t know where that had come from, but he didn’t let that show and instead backed it up with a teasing smile.

The blushing deepened, which, yeah, might have been the reason why his mouth had acted without his conscious decision to do so. It was coupled with a mixture of angry and underwhelmed. He wasn’t bulging. He wanted an answer. That’s when Gerry realized he didn’t have absolutely any good reason to have stopped to talk to Michael, and froze. Right there, with each of them still at opposing sides of the door, he felt all the awkwardness from before rushing back to him like a tidal cosmic joke.

“I wanted a second opinion,” he lied on the spot. “Robinson is working on something and I guess our paths will cross again, so I thought you could tell me a bit about her.”

“ ** **Miss**** Robinson,” Michel said with a pinch of annoyance. “Is a very competent Archivist.”

Gerry would have risen an eyebrow if he had known how to do it without rising the other too. Nothing in the state of the archives pointed to Gertrude being a good archivist. Michael was lying. But, he wasn’t done lying apparently. “A word of advice; don’t piss off someone if you want information from them.”

Ah, that checked out. It wasn’t supposed to be a _good_ lie.

“You are too honest to be working here,” was at the tip of his tongue, but he contained himself.

He didn’t really know this guy, and you never knew which perfectly normal book hid a Leitner under its covers. He wasn’t going to say anything. And, if someone was responsible for keeping her assistant’s eyes open, that was Robinson.

Instead he smiled brightly, a counterfeit smile, but still, and he offered his hand to shake “Gerry,” and after Michael took it, “in case I end up coming around again”.

He left the building shortly after with the bitter aftertaste of regret and not knowing why. The guy was under the protection of the Eye, right? He didn't need the protection of some "teen".


	2. Know what Lurks or Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerry can't believe what he is hearing, but unfortunately he goes to the wrong person to assuage his doubts.

His suspicions were confirmed after a few successful contacts with the institute: She had never sent any of her assistants to work with Gerry. Which, obviously, meant that she was protecting them. He had seen her sending other archival assistants to do dangerous work, but... hardened assistants, and also... less dangerous missions? He was speculating, of course, but he was sure he had never seen Gertrude send Michael to do really dangerous work. Just... just the burdensome part. He had also seen the guy bent over his desk well into the night when Gertrude was offering to take Gerry home, or running to Artefact Storage at the crack of dawn, which was a danger on its own. And he was sent as the middle man between Gertrude and the Director of the Institute frequently. Something didn’t quite add up, but Gerry never had time to waste wondering how Gertrude managed the archives.

"Harassing" the assistant, as they had been saying since their first conversation, was still one of his favourite hobbies after destroying yet another book.

“What is it tonight?” Gerry turned an office chair and sat on the other side of the assistant’s desk. There were more people around in the office this time, but most had gotten used to his presence and didn’t do more than wave weakly.

Michael looked up owlishly, in time to see his coworkers preparing to leave before focusing on Gerry.

“It's this statement,” he sighed. “You finished with Miss Robinson?”

“Apparently I’m not welcome during the recording. What is giving you this obvious headache and should I be jealous?”

Michael actually laughed and that was the other reason Gerry kept teasing the poor man; making his crow’s feet obvious with a smile was very very satisfying. Gerry was not oblivious to his own crush, but he hardly ever had things this nice in his life, so he was letting himself enjoy the good while it lasted.

“Don’t, heh, don't worry, you are still my main migraine.”

Gerry wore like a badge of honor the pride of being one of the very few people Michael didn’t stammer with anymore. Much. The doubts were still there whenever Emma was in the room, or Gertrude, and whenever he had a chance to see the man outside of the Institute, which were not many.

“Why don’t you try to explain it to me?”

“You will be my sounding board?”

Gerry bit down a cheesy line. “If I don’t fall asleep, sure.”

“Humm, fine, if you are cleared to work with Miss Robinson I guess you are cleared for this too.”

Gerry made himself comfortable, resting his head on his crossed arms over the chair’s back.

“So... well, I... I don’t want to... Talk... Badly... Look, I have been telling Gertrude how the statements could be sorted in parent categories, I have... I have this huh... alternative system.” The man opened a drawer and showed Gerry senseless lists of numbers, but the headers had crosses and circles and arrows. One of them was a spidermap, completely chaotic. A veritable red-thread mess. “First the obvious fakes, then the ghosts and all the things that turn up in Halloween, then the things that are so... unusual, but consistent, that... don’t look at me like that, I know it is very... but it works for me. So, the other things, I’d say there are about ten categories? Maybe 13 to make it extra creepy?” He laughed nervously. “Look. One with things with blood, one with things that alter the mind, one with, hmmm, I’d call it depression but worse, and then the claustrophobia, the arachnophobia, the agoraphobia, the mysophobia... you see how it goes.”

Gerry could see but could not believe. Had the Stranger taken Michael and left behind this copy playing the fool? Had the Spiral attacked Michael? Had it... erased his memories for some ritual? Should he warn Gertrude that something had attacked her assistant? Was the Eye... malfunctioning and taking knowledge instead of giving it?

Or... Was it possible? They had never discussed the entities, maybe Gertrude and the institute didn’t know much either and she was fumbling around? But if this was an attack of one of the fears... If Michael had been taken and this was a stranger, how would it react to Gerry calling it out on the lie? No. Better play along.

“...And this statement,” Michael, or not really Michael, continued oblivious to Gerry’s concerns. “It, it kind of proves that I’m right, but... I don’t know how to put everything together so Gertrude sees. Whenever I tell her about it, she just... forgets.” He laughed fondly. “She is just so forgetful. And I think there is... I don’t know, something more... But, you see? This filing system would be much more practical...”

“Huh...” was all Gerry dared to say.

“Or at least we could file by date, or the alphabetical order of the statement-giver, you know?”

“Aha...”

“I don’t know, maybe this is nonsense, it just seems like a better way to filing...”

“Sure...”

“Gerry, you are asleep on my desk.”

“What? No! I have been listening!”

“You have been making vague noises. If you are not asleep, you are adjacent-sleep. Go and rest, and...” Michael paused and Gerry could feel the change in the air. “...maybe we could go to a pub after my shift tomorrow to finish explaining?”

Gerry was then absolutely sure the man in front of him was not Michael. Michael who tolerated his playful flirting was gone and this thing had taken its place and Gerry had to talk to Gertrude immediately.

“Tomorrow? I don’t think I can. No, I have a job. It... Until late, probably.

He saw the thing that was probably not Michael backpedaling.

“Oh, no, no... Don’t worry, you don’t have to or anything. It is just that Emma and Fiona and... Well, they sometimes go to a pub a few blocks away and... at the end of the shift, so they could come if you don’t want to... Alone...”

Then again, Gerry was backpedaling just as hard.

“No, yes. It is just this book, you see, you know how negotiations are, and it is... Salesa, and he always drives a hard bargain, I really want to keep listening, It is just... not tomorrow.”

Gerry was not even listening to what Michael said.

“Yes, yes, of course, the bartering and the prices, of course, Salesa is just the worst. Look, I’ll just write...” He tore a piece of paper in front of him and wrote some numbers. “In case Salesa lets you go early.”

Gerry took the piece of paper, repeating reassurances, and drowning in his own mind. He didn’t notice Michael’s face. The moment the piece of paper went from Michael’s hands to Gerry’s a sharp pang of disbelief at what he was doing and immediate regret crossed his features. Michael couldn’t school his face into something milder, but it didn’t matter, because Gerry had bolted out of the door pocketing his phone number. And now there was no taking it back.

Michael was in such a state of panic that he didn’t notice Gerry had left in the direction of Gertrude’s office and not the exit.

“Gertrude!” The woman very consciously stopped the recorder.

“I thought you had gone home for the day,” she said in the second most unwelcoming tone she had.

“And still, here I am.” Gerry closed the door behind him to her obvious annoyance. “Gertrude, I realize we never sat down and shared what we knew, but I need to know we are on the same page.”

“That is quite a good idea. Piling resources can only be beneficial... If you can get it past your mother. Come tomorrow.”

“I’m afraid there are things that need to be discussed right now.”

Gertrude waited patiently without saying a thing, thoughtful. Gerry wondered if she was channeling the Eye with such an intense stare.

“What brought this?”

Gerry considered for a moment the woman before him. She had been recording. The Stranger’s creatures didn’t like recordings on principle, so she had not been taken, probably. Now, to trust or to lie? Lie. He still didn’t trust Gertrude. Backstabbing was not limited to fear entities.

“I just realized I have been basing all of our research in Smirke’s work, and he could have been wrong. Maybe there are more than 14 things, and one of them could be right under our noses.”

“I don’t think so. Neither of us is new at this, Gerard,” she punctuated seriously while offering him a chair to sit down. He didn’t. She continued. “I had my doubts when all this started, but by now it is fairly well-proven. There are 14 fears and water is wet. Did you find the extinction letters too?”

Gerry had no idea what she meant, but he nodded and let her continue.

“That buffoon was just making everyone lose their time by doing exactly what you are doing...” Gerry frowned slightly in confusion. “...Nitpicking.”

“Then we are on the same page.” And Gertrude was aware of the entities. Then there was a problem with Michael. He didn’t remember seeing anything with fractal patterns on his desk, but maybe there was something else affecting his mind? Or... Gertrude? Gerry kept talking. “I had my doubts, what with the way the Archives are organized.”

She got a glint in her eye that Gerry caught before it was overtaken by something more amused.

“You come into my archives on the day we burnt a Leitner and tell me how to do my job? No, Gerard, you know what we do, and if the archives were in order anyone could be the Archivist. And I would be superfluous.” She leaned forward on her desk. “And I don’t need to tell you how dangerous it is to become superfluous.”

It made perfect sense to Gerry, but he was biased.

“It would help if there was _any_ order, even if it was the wrong one. Whenever I come to investigate I waste most of my time.”

“Yes, yes, I know a system would help, but if you need something, you come to me. Even a flawed system is a risk, like the one Michael has been trying to push. Can you believe he wants to lump the Slaughter, the Flesh, and the Hunt together? This is not a new debate, Gerard, and I’m not going to change my mind just to make your life more simple. Alright? If you need anything you come to me. And now go home and have a shower. I think you still have blood on your hair, but who knows with that mess you call hair.”

Gerry sighed relieved. It was just a stupid debate about the filing system. For a moment he was sure there was something wrong. Either Gertrude or one of the powers (and it was telling how Gertrude had become in his mind an entity on her own in such a short time) had messed up with knowledge... but no. No powers, and Gertrude wasn’t keeping her assistants in the dark. No, of course not. He had seen all of them sorting and investigating statements. And... the Eye. Probably no assistant could be ignorant for long, even if they wanted. Damn his hyperawareness, because he refused to call it anxiety, just readiness. He breathed more easily and walked out, maybe the fresh air in the street would dispel the paranoia too.

The air out was indeed fresh and humid. Quite a contrast with the archives.

He put his hands in his pockets to stay warm, and walked to the bus stop. His thumb was playing with the edge of his mobile when his middle finger touched a slip of paper and he didn’t have to take it out to know what it was. Gerry stared forward unseeing as a bus came and went.

Wait. If it was just a filing system... Michel was not a puppet of the Stranger. Then... Had Michael really suggested going to a pub? Oh, _oh._ Had Gerry just rejected a date, or, well, probably not a date, but a shared drink at least, and with his most recent crush? Had Michael really somehow gotten out of his shell just to have Gerry slap him in the face with his suspicions of being some kind of monster?

Gerry sunk in the yellow seat of the bus stop and hid his face in his hands. Maybe he was a teenager, after all, these kinds of things didn’t happen to adults, right? He breathed slowly as the first drops of a storm started to fall on an already wet sidewalk. He took the slip of paper out and fingered the rushedly scribbled numbers carefully. Who cared what it really meant? At the very least it meant that Michael wanted to spend more time with him, and that was enough to paint a smile on his face.

He punched the number in his phone and opened a message to accept that invitation to the pub after all.

Except. Oh.

What bullshit had he made up to excuse himself? He had no idea. He could only remember the feeling of dread thinking the thing in front of him was not Michael.

He felt like such a twat.

_My plans just got canceled, we can grab that drink after all_

There, that should be enough to put his foot out of his proverbial mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my mind, Michael had panicked already and had invited Fiona to the pub too, because he saw Gerry leaving and thought he though it was a date, and it could be, but not if Gerry left, so maybe all the flirting was just a game? but he still wanted to go out with his friend so what to DO??  
> Because, you see, Michael is very tall and has no chill. So you can imagine the kind of stress that he is under.  
> ...so they didn't end up going alone but the three of them had fun.  
> Feel free to imagine them going alone on a Schrodinger date.


	3. Interrupted Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww, look at them, they are not each other's only bright light in a moonless night and still they choose each other.  
> (Let me be bitter over the romance trope where the pair lives in codependent isolation today, just today, by giving them actual loving friends!)

The situation was dire... as always, but Gerry found himself enjoying this one a bit more because Gertrude had decided to bring Michael with them. She had explained that Michael would be their cover story in case the authorities got involved. He wouldn’t be fighting but at a convention about Library Studies and Documentation at the University of Lisbon. Apparently, there was also a bit about paranormal studies that was said to be very interesting.

Cover story aside, there was a ritual. The Vast was up to something and there was no time to waste.

The plane trip had been... Well, Gerry was sure it could have been worse, but he was trying to keep Gertrude from knowing how much he cared about his... friend. Unless she pried with some help of the Eye, she didn’t need to know that visits to the pub had become somewhat frequent, sometimes joined by other workers from the Institute. Gerry liked Rosie with her off-colour jokes and Sonja who had a hard rule about not mentioning work topics at the pub, and Diana who had too many birds at home and too little time, and Sarah who insisted on sharing tips so his nails wouldn’t chip off.

During those nights Gerry had realized how, despite working at the Institute, and despite being shy, Michael was not really Lonely. He had assumed he was because of how his close coworkers treated him. Emma, especially Emma and Gertrude. And he had decided that everyone treated him the same way. It was patently untrue.

Then again, he guessed people would consider him quite lonely too if everything they saw was his life at home or his solo errands to rid the world of another misery. Nobody would guess he still texted people he had met at a mosh pit during the few concerts he could escape to. Although... he was definitely more lonely than Michael, and kept people at arm´s reach more often. Out of necessity. He couldn't let anyone else be dragged into the fight. Caring was a problem because when you care, it turns on you. Care gives pain an edge, but he couldn’t help himself.

But Michael was already part of it. And he was... Friendly. Hopeful. Caring. And even though Michael didn’t talk much, he had introduced Gerry to all his friends, he had introduced him to the waiter, and the pub owner, and Michael didn’t know how to feel about almost having something like a group of friends. He had received more niche institute memes, pictures of birds and stupid pictures of the others on the nights he couldn't go than he cared to admit. He had not deleted them. Not even the birds.

Gerry kept track of Michael, because he was the best part of any of those outings. It was amusing, learning the nuances in his expression, and how he talked differently with each person. Gerry had noticed how he slowed down his rhythm when he talked with friends, which, apparently, left him with enough time to think what he wanted to say and leave silences, but not stumble over his own words. Seeing Michael relaxed was very nice.

And Gertrude couldn’t know it. Any of it. She would surely use it against him. 

"Keay, you were a million miles away," Michel had smiled at him at the airport.

 _Keay_. Gerry hated hearing Michael using that one. But they had decided to stay professional if they were going to be working together.

"I was a million miles away."

"Planes don't fly that hight," Gertrude chipped in.

"I just think it is very unwise to fly if we are going after-"

"It is only polite to announce our arrival," she joked.

The hotel had been nice enough, but they barely put a step in before they had to leave to investigate a series of lighthouses in Sintra. They were out of time, and the number of people who thought they had almost fallen out of the edge of the Earth had multiplied worryingly in that area.

Gerry had not looked back when they left Michael alone at the hotel. He was safe there and that should have made it easier, but it didn't. For some reason, he was sure the safest place was by their side, if he came with them and Gerry could keep an eye on him. Speaking of safe, he didn't feel safe at all with Gertrude driving on the wrong side of the road. He was sure they were going to crash at every roundabout, where his head went to the left and Gertrude drove right unfailingly.

"I thought you didn't bring your staff to these things," Gerry tried to distract himself with conversation.

"I take my staff to all kind of places, I just don't want them to mix with you."

"Afraid they will like me more than you?"

"Not at all, you would scare the Stranger with that face."

"Hmm, careful, the spiral will get you if you keep telling lies," she laughed first and Gerry had one of those moments when he faltered and wondered if he could grow to trust her. "What are we going to do without your bombastic counter-rituals? Or did the airport let you sneak in a pound or two?"

"No such luck." She turned again and Gerry gripped the rented car's handle, surprised it hadn't dented yet. "We will have to do this the hard way."

"Which is..."

"Where is the fun in-?"

"No, Gertrude," Gerry interrupted. "Tell me or stop the car and I get down here and now. And tell me your backup plan too, because I'm not getting any closer to this thing without knowing exactly what I'm doing."

Gertrude slowed down and Gerry thought for a moment that she would really kick him out. She was only thinking, though, and she explained how there was going to be a trip to what people had started to call the Great Edge. Several dozens of ships were going to go to the coordinates where they collectively knew the world ended with a sudden certainty.

"And how do you make people stop fearing some imaginary edge to a flat Earth?" she finished with what Gerry thought was a rhetorical question, but the silence stayed.

"With... education?" he tried.

"With a shovel to the nape! We are talking about educated people who have been told the Earth is round all their lives. This is irrational, it can't be debated into submission."

"Then..."

"You let them do whatever they need to do to convince _themselves_."

"What. Let them go to the edge? Gertrude, there _will_ be an edge here. Miguela Vidal will make sure of it!"

"That's why we will go, with several artefacts, on the first ship to go to the edge. We make that ship immune to the Great Edge with something of the Buried, and when others see it, the fear will go, they will think it is some funny optical illusion and once the fear disappears, well, it's done."

"What artefacts?" Gerry said with a bad feeling.

"This and that. I took them from storage and I can't think of a better way to destroy them," Gertrude explained without explaining.

"Leitners, right? You have been hiding Leitners from me." Gerry would say he was disappointed, but he would have to be surprised for that.

"That's what you get from my explanation? We are going to destroy them today, anyway. I don't see why this is an issue for you." Well, that dispelled his doubts, this woman couldn't be trusted.

"You are going to board that ship with me, you hear me?" He said with all the seriousness he could. "I'm not going to go and be the Guy Fawkes to burn in your Gunpowder Plot just because I want to blow up those books."

She didn't answer. Denying it had been one of her plans would be useless. Whatever she said, Gerry was not going to believe her. Gerry wondered if he had already trusted Gertrude too much. He was in a foreign country with the Archivist driving them to the end of the world. He probably needed to re-evaluate his risk-taking, and he wondered if he would have agreed to come this blindly if Michael hadn't been part of the trip. He took off the seatbelt and squeezed himself to the back of the car to check the artefacts Gertrude had sneaked through customs.

"You said this one had disappeared," he said as soon as he opened the zip.

"It reappeared."

"Convenient."

"Very."

The cold silence was their third passenger for the duration of the trip.

The plan went to hell quickly when Miguela Vidal turned up before they did. They had been too far from the coast when she made her move. Gerry had been flung overboard after hitting several deks on his way to the water because gravity had started acting up. Their ship hadn't been the fastest one and others were approaching the Edge. There had been a ship crash, and he hoped there wouldn't be security footage of how that happened. Miguela Vidal had lost her temper several times, and Gerry had been close enough to the Edge to see it fall into the stars below. Which was more dangerous than expected, because if he looked east, he could see the lights of Sintra on the shore. Too close to ports, too close to humans, too many casualties, and hundreds of ships, boats, even a few kayaks, were sailing in their direction.

The tank of one of the ships had exploded. Gerry knew before leaving England that Gertrude wouldn't resist a good explosion if it happened to be there. Miguela Vidal had gone up in flames and Gerry had been able to use the book to counter the ritual for the first few boats. He had been floating over nothing, feeling the pressure around them, the pressure asphyxiating everyone around him too, a pressure that was even denting the ship he had climbed to when he fell overboard, and knowing that reading the poems of the Leitner was the only thing keeping everyone from falling. With every ship that stood dangling in the air, the void became a bit more a mirage and the mirage became just open sea and confused flat-earthers. Gerry made sure to drop the disgusting book into the starry void below before it became just salted water. They had stopped it all, and the cost was just a few more nightmares on top of the old ones.

Once again he had risked his life far more than Gertrude. It was a spur of the moment thing, but it was consistent in their dealings. Gerry wouldn't take a bullet for the old woman, but he would risk leg and limb to keep disaster from happening, and Gertrude knew it. That was incredibly stupid and dangerous. He should probably stop helping Gertrude; she was insidious. At least Mary never dangled something like camaraderie in front of him. She had stayed behind to tie a few loose ends and had sent Gerry to the hotel as a kindness, not because his presence would interfere with the aura of a harmless old lady she had been milking since her first grey hair.

When he came back through the doors of the hotel, he was still dripping wet and clutching his side. He had gotten his ribs bruised for his troubles. He would see what he could do about it in his room, but for that, he had to cross the hall and the door to the hotel bar was just there. There just happened to be a certain archival assistant sitting at a table that could make Gerry forget bruised ribs, which qualified as "doing something about it" as far as Gerry was concerned. And he had such an air of melancholy to him... It was not right. Michael was made to be laughing. Gerry made a beeline for the bar that he would blame on alcohol if someone asked. 

"I thought you would have found some librarian crew to party after the congress," Gerry said while draping his jacket on a chair and sitting down. He winced in pain.

"Gerry!" Michael lit up at the company."You are...drenching. Is this about the business with Gertrude?" Gerry made a vague gesture. Things had gone so spectacularly off the rails... "I was invited somewhere, but I got worried. You two were not answering any texts or calls..."

Gerry fished his battered phone from his soaked pocket and let it rattle on the table. Both of them stared at its waterlogged, cracked screen.

"That... might be beyond the magical healing powers of rice, right?" Michael said, picking up his Moscatel.

"Why don't we find somewhere else to drink the next one? Somewhere Gertrude won't walk on us?" Gerry said eyeing the barman, who was clearly very aware of who to blame for the extra time she'd spend moping today.

Michael nodded and walked away to pay. Gerry picked up his phone again and before he even got up he felt a warm dry jacket over his shoulders. And it smelled like Michael. He looked back to see a radiant smile.

"Let's go to your room for you to change first."

And normally he would have complained, but he was saturated with the smell of Michael, his voice, and the gentle manhandling. He was herded to his own room and kindly bullied into taking a shower. Gerry didn't know what to do with himself, Michael was in his room, babbling about the conference, in his room, while he was taking a shower. Michael was out there talking about mundane things, just talking, like a friend, but his mind was in the gutter. He must have hit his head harder than he thought. When he came out Michael was looking out of the window, whole body angled away from Gerry to give him space while he picked up dry clothes. 

"You know, you must have lived few encounters with supernatural things, but I have never seen statements from you at the Institute," he wondered out loud.

"No, not really. I don't want to get into that kind of mess".

"I guess I understand. Most records are public, the police wouldn't even need a warrant to get them".

"Not what I meant." Gerry wondered if he should tell him about his own experiences with the entities. He didn't want to feed the Eye or get trapped by the Institute, but Michael could use all the information he had, to protect himself if something were to happen to him; and working at the institute, something was bound to happen at some point. "I won't make a statement... But if you are curious I could tell you later, once we are sitting down with whatever it is people like drinking here."

"That would be..." Michael turned with giddy energy and turned back just as fast "...delightful."

Gerry rushed to put on a t-shirt again without paying attention to the red tips of his ears. "Okay, let's go."

"I... huh... Sure b-but, Gerry, that's... sorry I saw, but that is a big black bruise on your side, don't you need to put something on it? It is new, right? What if it's broken?"

Michael's practical worry somehow made everything far less tense. More so when they left the room.

"I have had broken ribs before, trust me, I wouldn't be able to move this way if it was broken." Michael still looked worried. "Tell you what, I'll add this bruise to my not-statement if it makes you happy".

The warm air of late spring hit them when hey walked out and Gerry felt rituals and fear as something very far away. The streets were well lit, the air smelled of the sea and there was a hole in the wall where nobody would look for them in a few hours just a few blocks away. After the bruise, Michael had been telling him about the kind of trouble he got himself into when he was a child and Gerry had been laughing so hard that pain had flared again. Michael had curled an arm around him for support and Gerry had leaned on him. Feeling bold, he had curled his own arm around Michael's waist and had looked at his face with a question, almost a challenge. Michael had met his eyes with something warm, a hint of amusement and daring him back to say something. 

Whatever warning or statement Gerry had been planning on giving, it had just taken a backseat to a much more important conversation he wanted to have. One that would hopefully lead to better things. He had been feeling so tranquil and suddenly a feeling like a ball of something cold travelled from his gut to his chest and flooded him. He didn't need to wonder why for long.

"Por que você não morre?" came the shout from the middle of the street.

Gerry turned. The street was blissfully deserted except for them and Miguela Vidal.

"Oh, look, the edgelady." Gerry mumbled. "You know, the Fairchilds would hate you." He shouted even knowing the woman wouldn't understand.

The nausea was rising, and he didn't have any weapons at hand. Vertigo was taking over, and it was not only him; Michael was clearly affected too. He walked away from the sidewalk and onto the tarred road to face her fully.

"Você estragou meus planos." He had no idea what that meant, but his lungs felt it, and his lungs had been already on thin ice. He grabbed a car mirror to feel something other than blown away. 

Gerry pushed through the feeling to approach the woman. There was a trick to it, one that could only be learnt through surviving the first encounter, so not many people got to learn it. Miguela didn't relent, though, and she kept pushing herself, focusing on Gerry because the attempt at a ritual had left her drained. Gerry looked around, what he wouldn't give for a loose pipe, or a can to throw at her. He could only think of his busted mobile, which would give her a bump on the head at best...

The window of the closest car to Miguela burst into a thousand tiny crystals, the alarm started to blare and her concentration broke. Gerry felt himself being pulled behind a car along with a very scared Michael who was looking around to escape. Also, Gerry suddenly had a knife in his hand, and the only explanation was that Michael had put it there, but that couldn't be right. There was no time to wonder. They had to leg it. Without the element of surprise and a... a _knife._ There was not much they could do. Gerry was thinking of a way to escape, but Miguela was approaching their hiding spot with firm steps. 

He was going to tell Michael to run in different directions so she'd only get one of them when Michael rounded the car and threw a knife at her over the hood. She gasped and covered her bleeding shoulder.

"I won't aim for the shoulder with this one." Michael's voice was too loud with panic and it wavered, but his hand didn't. Gerry noticed he had his hand behind his back as if to reach for another knife, but his fist was empty. Miguela was only baffled for a second, and Gerry used it to tackle her and land a couple of punches. She went to choke him again, but he was there with the knife to her wrist and she had to use her hand and concentration to keep his knife away from her. She squirmed away with barely a scratch and prepared to pounce again, but Michael had walked from behind the car, not knowing what to do, but unwilling to run away.

Miguela grunted before running away. Surviving the failure of the ritual had clearly left her very weak. Her running away was a testament to it, or she would have overpowered them easily. But she had taken the explosion of a ship in her face, and that would take its toll on anyone. 

Gerry sat on the floor panting, leaning against the wheel of the car they had used for cover. Michael was keeling at his side in a moment, his face angry and cleaning tears from his cheeks with jerky swipes of his sleeve. After looking at Gerry carefully he seemed to find what he was looking for and stood. Gerry observed as Michael retrieved the knife he had thrown at her and another one from inside the car with the alarm blaring, careful not to touch the car. So that had busted the window, huh?

Gerry had stumbled to a standing position by the time Michael jogged to his side again. There was no need to talk, both knew they needed to leave that street fast. They had been already very lucky, after all, there weren't mobiles pointed in their direction to record. Both had been jumpy on their walk to the hotel and they had been silently watching the crowd and each other's back. Gerry hadn't given back the knife, just in case. Gertrude was at the hall, so Gerry got close and told her quietly to be careful if someone knocked on her door that night, Miguela Vidal had survived.

They shared the elevator ride, and when they had to leave for their own rooms they lingered for a moment and Michael took the step in the direction of Gerry's room.

"We left my jacket in your room," he excused himself.

"I don't want us to sleep alone either tonight."

Michael transferred his knife to his left hand and took Gerry's in his right one instead. Gerry looked up at him, but he was inspecting the hall. Gerry had not been this afraid in a long time. It was not fun or nice. He had just faced a ritual and it hadn't been as scary as seeing Michael caught in the crossfire. This was very bad. Gerry pulled out his key card and opened for them. What followed was opposite to the last time they had been standing in that room. They swept the room completely alert and checked the window as a possible escape route or entry point. They checked the Hotel's fire escape plan in case it would come useful. They didn't undress, because if they had to run or fight in the middle of the night they didn't want to be caught in their Pjs.

They did, however, end up both sitting on the bed, their backs to the headboard, shoulders touching, Gerry with one leg over one of Michael's and talking. Letting their heart rate go back to normal hour by hour.

"Where did these come from?" said Gerry, finally handing Michael back his knife.

"My knife collection."

"Your -excuse me- what?" Gerry said with a huff of amusement.

"I have a collection of throwing knives." Michael put a stray curl behind his ear.

"Why?" Gerry asked, a bit distracted by the hair.

"Because I throw knives." Michael started to twist a curl pulling it from his nape.

"You throw... knives."

"I... Y-yes! I don't, I don't really... not to people, j-just targets! and, also, only still targets."

And Gerry knew he was doing something very wrong when Michael started to stammer again. Also, his twirling and pulling had become more frantic.

"I'm not... I'm not violent, or some... Look, I just-"

"It's amazing." Gerry took the hand that has twisting the strand (because that's something he could do now, apparently!) and clasped it tightly. "You will have to teach me, or at least show me your collection as soon as we get back".

Michael seemed to take his calm response at face value and breathed more normally.

"I started carrying a pocket knife because I felt a bit less nervous in public and over the years it became a hobby." He looked forward as if suddenly shocked. "I never expected them to be actually useful".

Gerry stared at their hands in silence.

"I never got to give you my statement," Gerry remembered, but he was swiping his thumb over one of Michael's scarred hands.

"That woman was a statement on her own, don't you think?" Michael laughed. He pulled their hands up to eye level. "I would rather talk about something else if you think we can afford the distraction".

Gerry looked at Michael's eyes, and they were close enough to see how his eyelashes went from blond to practically transparent at the end. And in barely a blink he had made a decision.

"I think I'm distracted anyway".

He straddled Michaels' legs in the precariously small bed, telegraphing every move. Michael had his hand in Gerry's hip instantly so he didn't fall off. Gerry was hurting, even as he leaned forward, one hand pressed against the wall for balance and the other still in Michael's. He almost didn't dare to move. Looking at Michael's lips from this close was already something he hadn't hoped he would be able to do. Then Michael's hand left his hip to cradle his face and Gerry pressed his face into it, enjoying the feel of such long fingers from his jaw to his hair. 

"Is this okay?" was the whispered question that went unanswered when the distance between them disappeared.

Gerry felt Michael's lips like a brand on his. Hot and smooth and everything he wanted. He couldn't have kept his eyes open if he tried. He just pressed himself closer and got lost on the feeling, the warmth, the texture, the little puff of air when one of them breathed... and then the surprise when Michael hooked one arm around his waist and the other in his hair and used that to deepen the kiss into something messier that felt like a pull of something deeply rooted inside his chest, like he could be torn from himself in the most delightful way. He was out of breath and for the first time lately, he was happy about it. He got away, barely half an inch, and when he opened his eyes, Michael's were already there. Calm but searching, and Gerry couldn't for the life of him remember why he had bothered to break the kiss, breathing was not worth the half-inch of distance.

He took his hand from the wall and used instead Michael's shoulder for balance before going back to those lips. The tickling curls on his fingers were secondary, the hand on his back clutching his t-shirt was background noise, the thumb tracing lines behind his ear was far from him, the teeth hitting teeth was an unimportant concept, but it was all such a thrilling sensation framing the simple feeling of having Michael; perfect, sweet, gorgeous Michael, simply with him. Michael was occupying every space in his head and the excess was lighting up his nerves, he couldn't find another way to describe it. Every unexpected brush, every unplanned and new gesture made him startle with pleasure. He didn't moan when he felt the bite, but the air had surely stopped working, because that gasp did absolutely nothing for his breathlessness.

Gerry clutched Michael's shoulder harder because his leg was about to fall off the bed, and he didn't want to stop, couldn't, much less because of something stupid like balance. Michael stopped, though. He wordlessly and smoothly moved them closer to the centre of the bed, and closer to horizontal too, so Gerry wasn't protesting. In fact, he encouraged the hand that had drifted to his thigh to guide him and had stayed there for obvious reasons. Gerry got comfortable resting his weight on his elbows and not his chest, while he kissed along Michael's jawline and down his neck. Some kisses were small like bites and some wide, letting his wet lip stay connected to the salty skin underneath. But what he enjoyed the most of those, was finding each new way Michael reacted to them. 

Ultimately, he couldn't stay away from Michael's lips for too long and he went back up the extensive span of skin and bone and muscle, up to find a smile and crinkling eyes. And the separation of seconds must have made him a starving man, because in his rush back his first kiss was off centre. He didn't miss the second time. It became the new breathing, a tidal expression of life. A single gesture, but each wave unique. 

Gerry's arms were busy keeping him from putting his weight on his front, but Michael's didn't have such problem and that's why a hand found its way under Gerry's t-shirt. It traced his spine one ridge at a time, making twin shots of pleasure bloom at both sides of the fingers, and then the arm pressed them closer, and it coupled with Gerry's arms getting tired of holding his own weight and the shortness of breath was not a funny metaphor anymore.

"Ah-" He gasped, unable to even complain properly because of the way pain gripped his chest.

"Bugger" Michael whispered, moving himself to ease Gerry to his least bad side, but still very much pressed together. "Did I hurt you?"

"You," he almost wheezed, so he waited until he had one whole breath to say it. "You don't get to claim this, blondie, I hurt myself first". It was worth it to see Michael roll his eyes while smiling. 

It was clear the night wouldn't let them go much further, but when Michael moved to put some distance between them, Gerry's arm shot automatically to keep Michael's arm exactly where it was.

"Don't..." And Gerry didn't say anything else, but Michael relaxed slowly as Gerry found a position on his side where it wasn't everything that hurt.

He had an arm mostly free, but he didn't want to dislodge Michael's and truth be told, pain aside, he was as content as a purring cat with the hand drawing senseless patterns on his back. He was drawing his own lazy patterns on Michael's chest. The exhaustion was coming back to him in waves and the adrenaline boost was done doing his thing. He sighed as deeply as his chest allowed and rested his eyes. This was nice. He could spend the rest of the night doing this. 

"We should have gotten you a painkiller," Michael muttered to the line of his hair. Which prompted a memory of something he should have retouched a while ago, but he didn't have any fucks to give nor the energy to feel shame.

"Keep doing that with your hand and I won't need any." Gerry wasn't sure if he had managed to say it out loud before tiredness got to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I discovered that I'm physically incapable of stepping away from the "Michael is a secret BAMF" trope.  
> Unapologetic about it too.


	4. The Wrong Attention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerry should have told Michael about Mary too, he would regret not doing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the timeline is a mess, and group chats and so might be slightly ahead of what would be realistic, so suspend you disbelief for a while, thank you!

Gerry was fidgeting with the bags he was carrying, Michael was fidgeting with his keys. They had been talking a lot behind Gertrude's back since they came from Portugal, seeing each other, but this was Michael’s home, not some pub or the archives. Neither of them would mention the implications, but even sure and comfortable as they were, there was an undercurrent of nervousness.

The flat Gerry was ushered into was nice. There weren’t towers of books, there was not a suspicious smell of gasoline, not a moving pile of meat to be seen anywhere, a somewhat messy kitchen with an unstable tower of dry plates was the only thing vaguely threatening. He left the bags on the counter.

“You really shouldn’t have,” said Michael putting away bell pepper.

“Then you shouldn’t have insisted on paying.”

“It was my shopping list.”

“And it is going to be our dinner.”

“Is there something you don’t have an answer for?”

“I’ll think about it and get back to you.”

And Michael laughed cheerfully, boxed Gerry in against the counter and got close until their noses touched. Gerry was terribly amused by Michael always letting him be the one to bridge the gap. He had an inkling why it was, but he was not going to keep them waiting to ask. It was a short peck before Michael suddenly remembered he had to show him the knife collection. It was colourful, and the edges were sharp in all of them. Gerry learnt more than he ever expected about weight, aerodynamics and concealing blades.

“These were a gift,” he pointed at the iridescent ones.

“And you just throw them? Is there a target club somewhere?”

Instead of telling him, they walked to the front door. The hall was just long enough for them to stand at a fair distance and use the target on the bedroom’s wardrobe to show off. Michael didn't have a perfect aim, objectively, which had no bearing in Gerry finding it thrilling. Gerry would have loved to throw a few too, Michael would have enjoyed teaching him, but there was a very real chance he would hit a few walls and then the floor. It also gave them the excuse to decide they should go somewhere outdoors to practice one day. And by all accounts that was a future date, so they decided waiting would be worth it.

They cooked dinner and ended up eating most of it out of the frying pan, because after Gerry finished his cutting and cleaning part he sat on the counter and stole bits and pieces. Michael had tried to chastise him exactly once before stealing his fair share. And the rest had almost been burnt because with Gerry on the counter, legs invitingly open, Michael was shorter for once, and they couldn’t pass that up. They felt like they couldn't let _any_ chance pass, no matter how small. 

There were burnt pots to clean, but no dishes, so they ended up on the sofa sooner than expected. Something played in the background, but they didn’t care. They were turned towards each other and were comparing shows they had and hadn’t seen when they were younger. Michael made wide hand gestures when he got excited and Gerry had a tendency to enumerate with his fingers. They were simply having fun when both of their mobiles vibrated at the same time. That could only mean a message in their “Magnus’r’us” group.

“What is it now?” he said closing his eyes and hoping nothing terrible had happened.

Gerry didn’t bother moving to get his own. The light of Michael's mobile was shoved in front of his eyes. 

“They are at the pub without us.”

It was a selfie. Their three friends were squeezing together and they were leaving a big empty space on the right; their two names were written across the empty space. There was a message underneath.

“ _This would be your place, but you ditched us for who knows what_.”

Gerry pressed one-fingered the camera icon and the phone on Michael’s hand showed his reflection. Gerry shared a questioning look with Michael. Michael turned the mobile to see what he had pressed, his smile just widened, turned mischievous, and he grabbed Gerry so they would both be in the picture.

His smile trembled for a moment. "A-are you sure?"

Gerry looked at themselves in the reflection. With the way Michael had his arms around him and with Gerry leaning into him, one would have to be very obtuse to mistake them for anything but a couple. Gerry put his finger in the shutter.

"I'm sure, now smile."

Gerry’s phone vibrated when Michael sent the photo, and again when he sent: “ _I didn’t ditch you for a 'what', but a 'who'_ ”.

The group was silent for a moment and then it exploded with comments. 

“Aren’t they together at the pub? What are the three of them doing texting at the same time?” Gerry groaned.

It wasn’t a good groan because he was smiling while he did it. He leaned on Michael’s shoulder to see what they texted and pitch in with his comments. He was too comfortable to reach for his mobile. He liked this too much.

He liked it enough to forget time was important and he missed the last bus. Which made Michael insist on taking him home, and that was fine because it meant more time together. Gerry hadn’t thought of the implications until he was putting on the seatbelt on the car.

Home meant Mum.

He wasn’t sure what would happen if those worlds collided, but he didn’t know how to tell Michael that he should drop him off a few blocks away and pretend they didn’t know each other without sounding like a weirdo. If Michael was suspicious, he may investigate, and it was too easy to find a newspaper blaming Gerry for his mother’s death. He didn’t want to scare him off. They would have to talk about that, probably, but a car ride was not long enough and his street was just around the corner. He should at least warn Michael about Mary being a piece of work.

He didn’t. The car came to a stop, his mother was already at the door waiting.

In other circumstances, he would have leaned, kissed Michael goodnight and walked away with light feet. Instead, he rushed out, Michael picking the mood instantly and fixing his eyes on Mary. A rushed goodbye, a hasty thank you and barely a worried glance.

Gerry walked past his mother, his good mood stayed at the threshold when he came in; all these years a look from her was enough. Tonight was a bad night to be home. And it would only get worse.

His phone vibrated, he reached for it immediately.

 _“_ S _o... Do the tattoos run in_ _the family?_ _”_

 _“_ _You are ridiculous_ _”_ He texted back.

_“_ _Are you alright? You looked worried in the car_ _”_

He didn’t know how to answer, not in a text.

 _“I’m fine”_

He shouldn’t have reached for his mobile. It became obvious as soon as he lifted his eyes from the screen. His mother had seen him, might even have seen him smile, and he was not sure he had been fast enough blocking the screen. Mary Keay could reach very far with just a name. He might have doomed Michael just for existing around him.

He didn’t want to avoid Michael until his mother faded away, but... any other course of action would put Michael at a worse risk. She had only seen him once. If she saw him twice and he wasn’t a contact to further the family legacy there wouldn’t be a third time.

That was why he pretended to have too much work to visit him until dear deceased mum started to turn incorporeal again. And when he reached the Archives, it wasn’t Michael he ran into first.

“You want to keep him safe, don’t you?” Gertrude always knew too much. She didn’t need help from the Eye most of the time. He wasn’t sure where the information had come from this time, but she was right once again. “Then let me help. You can’t destroy her book, but I can.”

And he didn’t like it, but it was her assistant too. So to keep Michael safe, he trusted her.


End file.
